


Subtle Inarizaki Dating

by sifuhotman



Series: Subtle Inarizaki Things [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Inspired by the Facebook group "Subtle Asian Dating", M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29359089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sifuhotman/pseuds/sifuhotman
Summary: When Atsumu is featured in the Facebook groupSubtle Inarizaki Dating, Osamu begins to be mistaken for him everywhere he goes.He's annoyed and grumpy about it, but mostly, he's pissed at the person who orchestrated the whole thing: Suna Rintarou.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Series: Subtle Inarizaki Things [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2156646
Comments: 91
Kudos: 698
Collections: SunaOsa, SunaOsa Valentine's Exchange





	Subtle Inarizaki Dating

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the SunaOsa Valentine's Exchange.
> 
> For the one and only [Minty](https://twitter.com/minty_frans), who I absolutely adore :-)

It's Atsumu, because of _course_ it’s Atsumu. 

Osamu crawls out from under his covers at eleven on a Saturday morning only to find five hundred fucking notifications glaring at him. An influx of notifications isn’t new—after all, college students have little better to do than spam text during lectures and hangovers—but he’s never had  _ five hundred. _

His roommates are the largest offenders. Osamu has to scroll back to the beginning of the chat to figure out what the fuck is going on. The first message that triggered this activity takes a couple minutes to reach, and Osamu reaches for his glasses on the nightstand before rubbing away the blurriness tainting his sight.

> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> Osamu
> 
> Dude
> 
> What the fuck is this
> 
> LMAO
> 
> _ Ginjima Hitoshi has shared a link. _

Osamu clicks the link and squints. It takes him to a Facebook page.

**SUBTLE INARIZAKI DATING**

Osamu has heard about this page. Subtle Inarizaki Dating—otherwise known as SID—started earlier in the semester, when some batshit kid at Inarizaki University decided that the university meme page, Subtle Inarizaki Things, didn’t have enough shitposting to feed the desperate and insatiable hunger of bored, procrastinating students.

Somehow, the dating group managed to have more members than the meme curation one, and Osamu guesses that this is because there are non-Inarizaki members who lurk to leave thirst comments and tag their friends. He hasn’t heard of it actually resulting in relationships.

Sometimes his friends send him screenshots of memes they think Osamu will enjoy, and he’s seen a few profiles from Subtle Inarizaki Dating. But Osamu isn’t much of a social media guy. The memes and the dating posts are funny, but not funny enough that they inspire Osamu to log back into his Facebook account, which he hasn’t updated since graduating middle school.

When his eyes move down to the post that Gin linked, he chokes on air.

> **❣️ INTRODUCING INARIZAKI’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR ❣️**
> 
> Looking for a 👏🏼  ~~ nice ~~ 👏🏼, 👏🏼  ~~ thoughtful ~~ 👏🏼, 👏🏼  ~~ smart ~~ 👏🏼, 👏🏼🔥S E X C E E🔥👏🏼 single man?  Give it up for........
> 
> 🔥 **MIYA ATSUMU** 🔥  **(20)** 🔥 **Resident HOTTIE🔥**
> 
> **THE BASICS** :
> 
> \-  class : second year   
>  \-  major : honestly could not tell you, usually found shotgunning beers 🍺 instead of studying   
>  \-  occupation : student (?? probably), starting setter for the 🏐🏐 INARIZAKI MEN’S VOLLEYBALL TEAM 🏐🏐
> 
> YES that’s right he’s a D1 athlete folks!!! Who doesn’t love a (D)ivision 1 (A)thlete  **(** D)addy bod!!!!!!) with some talented FINGERS 👐🏻 😏😏 and THREE ✌🏼☝🏻 sexc mfn SERVES 🥵🥵🥵 that’ll get your BALLS 🥜🏐🥜🏐🥜🏐🥜🏐🥜 tingling
> 
> \-  hometown : 1million ton kansai dialect 🤤 can tell yA where this babe’s from   
>  \-  height : 184 cm 😱 with a 969 cm attitude 😤😤😤   
>  \-  weight : 👏🏼D👏🏼U👏🏼M👏🏼M👏🏼Y 🍑🍑🍑👏🏼T👏🏼H👏🏼I👏🏼C👏🏼Q👏🏼Q👏🏼 🍑🍑🍑
> 
> ok now moving onto cons because holy shit are there a lot of them:
> 
> **CONS:**
> 
> \- self-centered as fuck 🙄   
>  \- says “never drinking again” but then drinks the next day 🙄🙄🙄   
>  \- sore loser, will pout for two (2) to five (5) business days if he loses one (1) round of mario kart 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄   
>  \- fat mouth 🙄 but you know you can teach him to use it right 🥵   
>  \- will get blackout drunk like every weekend but who needs memories anyway 🤠
> 
> **PROS:**
> 
> \- Big Dick 🍆 seriously that shit’s a monster cOCK 😈🐓
> 
> **GENERAL STATS:**
> 
> \- intellect ⭐️  
>  \- tact ⭐️  
>  \- narcissism ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️  
>  \- stupidity ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️  
>  \- impulsivity ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️  
>  \- sexiness ⭐️⭐️⭐️  
>  \- swag ⭐️⭐️  
>  \- volleyball skills ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
> 
> **MISC** :
> 
> \-  interests : men, women, balls🏐   
>  \-  talents : idk does annoying people count   
>  \-  current concern : well as I type this he is heaving over the toilet bowl (see image #4 below) so
> 
> Need a one night stand? ✅ A disappointing relationship? ✅ A clown to gossip with your friends about? ✅✅✅ Look no further!
> 
> CHECK HIM OUT ON 📸 INSTAGRAM 📸:  **@settermiyaa** but ❌❌ DON’T ❌❌ go to his twitter ❌❌, this bitch don’t know when to shut up
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** : I take no responsibility for what happens if you actually try to talk to him. Proceed at your own risk
> 
> PS but if you choose to hit the DMs then I will send you my sincerest condolences and also a link to a self-help resources 
> 
> PPS if you know this loser don’t tell him he’s here. I want him to wake up and suffer ❤️

Attached is a sequence of images that can only be described as ‘unfortunate’. There’s one where Atsumu is knocked out on the bus, drool collected at the corner of his mouth. Another one where he sports a botched dye job that left his usually platinum blonde hair a brassy orange color, which was neither flattering nor desirable. Then there’s the blurry photo of Atsumu drunkenly scarfing down a soggy slice of pizza. And one that Osamu recognizes, because he took it: Atsumu on one knee as Bokuto tips a bottle of whiskey down his throat. An eggplant emoji has been skillfully placed in a rather compromising position.

To Atsumu’s credit, at least there are two photos that aren’t terrible. One features Atsumu at the beach, bearing his ‘Division 1 athlete bod’ in full glory, and there’s another of him moments before he’s about to serve on the court.

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> this is the most cursed thing i have ever read
> 
> why would you subject me to this suffering
> 
> **Kosaku Yuto**
> 
> LMAO LOOK WHO’S FINALLY AWAKE
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> Bruh someone’s deadass gonna be auctioning off Atsumu soon
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> thank god
> 
> someone please
> 
> take him off my hands

Osamu looks at the details of the post, noticing that it was uploaded at 2am, hours after Osamu fell asleep. He recognizes the poster’s name—Suna Rintarou, one of Atsumu’s volleyball teammates—and groans.

His brother is a moron.

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> what the fuck man 
> 
> i leave you to your stupid parties
> 
> for ONE night…
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> lecture me tomorrow brat
> 
> i’m hungover as fuck
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> did you just get up
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> ya
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> have you gone on facebook lately
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> huh
> 
> no i don’t even have it on my phone
> 
> also been busy
> 
> yakked twice
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> ew
> 
> anyway
> 
> explain this
> 
> dumb bitch
> 
> _ Miya Osamu has sent a photo. _
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> tf is this
> 
> hUH
> 
> WHAT THE FUFK
> 
> WHAT TEH FUCCKDJFKDJKFJJ
> 
> IM GONNA KILL SUNA

Osamu returns to the post, shaking his head as he scrolls down. He can’t tell if SID started out as a platform for validation or if it’s always been for hardcore dunking. Either way, the point of this kind of thing is to roast your friends. Everyone knows it.

Well. Atsumu always complains about being single, and he’s always moping about his hot teammate that doesn’t give him the time of day. Maybe this will get him to stop complaining, at least for a little while. He’ll be too busy dealing with the emotional and social repercussions of this post. 

There was a friend-of-a-friend who’d been featured in SID once, and Osamu heard she had to deactivate her social media for a few days. It’s kind of unsettling to think that one single post could send you from anonymity straight into the public eye, especially on a university campus, where everyone’s glued to their phones.

He wonders what sort of Pandora’s Box awaits Atsumu on his Instagram page. This sort of thing would be okay if no one else sees it. But a  _ lot _ of people have seen it.

**7251 reactions**

**1083 comments**

Incredibly, the comments are somehow worse than the original post. Osamu reads one that says: **OH THIS MANS COULD SERVE ME ALL NIGHT AND ALL DAY AND ANY WAY THAT HE WANTS** 🥵🥵🥵. It’s painful enough that Osamu promptly closes the post and has to resist the urge to douse his brain in rubbing alcohol. 

Morons. All of them.

Osamu texts his brother to remind him to drink water before getting out of bed. He knows Atsumu must be embarrassed; Osamu would be embarrassed, too. Atsumu is probably in full-blown emo boy hours by now, bemoaning his misfortune and asking the universe why the fuck he’d even been born.

It’s an interesting start to the weekend, and Atsumu might feel like shit—from the hangover  _ and _ the destruction of his once-non-existent public image—but Osamu is sure it’ll blow over. These things always do.

* * *

It doesn't blow over.

By late afternoon, Osamu’s gotten used to the text messages from astounded classmates and friends that are various iterations of  **WTF** and  **HOLY SHIT** and  **LMAO ATSUMU** . It’s a little exhausting, having to keep up with it. So Osamu doesn’t. He turns off his notifications for everyone except his roommates and Atsumu and carries on with his day.

Osamu goes to the grocery store, cleans the floor, reorganizes his lecture notes, and calls his dad. He texts Atsumu to see if he’s feeling better and doesn’t receive a response, then texts Gin, Akagi, and Kosaku to ask whose turn it is to clean the bathrooms.

It’s a fairly ordinary Saturday until something unusual happens as Osamu peruses the meal sets offered in the dining hall.

“Hey.”

Osamu glances up at the voice, eyes lingering on the bentos stuffed with rice, meat, and pickled vegetables. 

“Miya, right?” a girl says. She has short hair, cut into a sharp bob angled at the chin. 

Osamu blinks. His stomach grumbles and he wants to ignore her, but he has, at least, a shred of decency. This shred of decency is quite possibly the only thing that distinguishes him from his brother. “Yes? Can I help you?”

Relief crosses over her face. “I thought so! I recognized you from your post.” She offers a genuine smile, but it drives a twist of discomfort in Osamu’s gut. 

_ You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. _

“I figured I’d run into you since—”

“I think you have the wrong twin,” Osamu interrupts hastily, because the sooner she realizes it, the better. He picks up a bento box, not even bothering to check the contents. “I’m Osamu, not Atsumu. He’s my identical twin, so you might be confusin’ me for him? I wasn’t the one in Subtle Inarizaki Datin’. I don’t even play volleyball.”

The girl’s face fills with a deep flush that stretches from her chin to her hairline. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—it wasn’t mentioned that—”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. It happens. Identical and all.” Osamu gives a tight smile and begins walking to the register. When the girl returns to peering at the a la carte menu, Osamu places the bento back in the display and scrambles out of the dining hall. This must be a sure sign that he should put in the effort into cooking rather than being lazy and grabbing a pre-made meal.

This sort of thing happens frequently, where someone will greet him assuming that he’s Atsumu at parties or in class or randomly on campus. Hell, even his parents sometimes call him by the wrong name, so he’s gotten used to it, but it’s never been because of a cursed shitpost making fun of his brother. That’s probably the last thing Osamu would  _ ever _ want to be associated with.

Atsumu is most likely still recovering from his hangover and, if he has any sensibility, he’s shut off his phone, too. He’s been startlingly silent today; he often texts Osamu whenever he’s bored, which usually ends up being once every couple of hours. If this is going how Osamu imagines, Atsumu must be bombarded with messages from potential suitors, the occasional cyberbully, and maybe even a few people trying to scam him.

It takes about two minutes for Osamu to be hit with the realization that this could potentially be a problem—not just for Atsumu, but for him, too.

This problem comes to head when he opens Instagram for the first time in three weeks, only to come face-to-face with way too many message requests for his meager account that has precisely two photos and, up until yesterday, a grand total of sixteen followers.

A small bubble of panic grows in his chest. Osamu isn’t used to this sort of attention, even if it’s just a case of mistaken identity. It’s always been Atsumu, brash and reckless Atsumu, who demands it.  _ He’s _ the one that should be at the center of this mess, not Osamu.

Even if he’s annoyed at Suna for posting this garbage in the first place, Osamu knows better. He knows Atsumu instigated this, and, unfortunately, he’s dragged Osamu along for the ride.

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> hey asshat
> 
> look at this shit
> 
> _ Miya Osamu has sent a photo. _
> 
> _ Miya Osamu has sent a photo. _
> 
> _ Miya Osamu has sent a photo. _
> 
> _ Miya Osamu has sent a photo. _
> 
> _ Miya Osamu has sent a photo. _
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> what the fuck do i do with this
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> come over tonight
> 
> bring me dinner pls
> 
> i’m dying
> 
> for more than one reason
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> dramatic ho
> 
> see you soon

* * *

“ Do you wanna fuckin’ explain to me why you’re trendin’ locally on Twitter?”

Osamu plops down a plate of onigiri onto Atsumu’s desk as he tucks his feet into a pair of spare slippers. He drags a desk chair over and props his feet up on Atsumu’s bed, mattress creaking under the weight.

Atsumu lazily picks his head off his pillow. He’s on his back, scrolling through his phone, and he reeks of last night’s gin. “Didn’t realize you even used Twitter, Samu.”

“I don’t. Gin sent me screenshots.”  **#SETTERMIYAA** has crossed Gin’s timeline multiple times, and Osamu really, really wishes he’d stop sending him screencaps of bizarre tweets. The comments were bad enough, but, somehow, the tweets are even worse.

“‘Course he fuckin’ did.”

“So?”

“Didja bring me dinner?”

Osamu rolls his eyes. “Yes. It’s on yer desk.”

“Couldja hand it to me?”

Osamu stares at him flatly.

“Please. Samu. I’m goin’ through a crisis.”

“I can see that. I betcha haven’t even left yer bed today.”

Atsumu throws him a dirty look. His hair is a mess and there are dark circles around his eyes and his skin is tinged with a sickly pallor, but he sits up. He reaches over to grab the plate and mumbles, “Yes, I  _ did _ leave my bed.”

“I mean besides the times you left to yak.”

“Shut yer trap.”

Osamu rolls his eyes. Atsumu is—and always has been—dramatic. It’s been that way since they were kids, when Atsumu spent more time kicking up a fuss about inequitable crayon sharing instead of bothering to correct it. Both brothers had thought that maybe they’d get some time apart in university, but, of course, they wound up in the same school. Atsumu, because of his volleyball scholarship, and Osamu, because Inarizaki University has one of the best business programs in the country.

“So do you wanna explain how yer sorry ass became the biggest meme on Facebook in the past twenty-four hours? And also Twitter. And prolly Tik Tok, too,” Osamu asks. Atsumu takes a long drink of water before eating. He chews slowly as his mouth remains pulled into a tight pout. “Or do I gotta put together two and two myself?”

“Suna did it,” Atsumu says through a mouth full of rice. “I don’t really remember what happened.”

“It looked like you were dead in the bathroom when he posted it.”

“Yeah. Cuz I was.”

“Tsumu, I know you better than anyone else on this campus and this fuckin’ planet. And I know for a fact that you definitely provoked Suna into postin’ this dumb shit on yer behalf.” Osamu crosses his arms. “So what gives.”

Atsumu heaves a sigh. He’s already starting to look a little better, most likely because he’s finally getting something in his stomach. Although he rarely says  _ thank you _ or  _ it was delicious _ , Osamu knows that Atsumu’s always grateful for any food-related gesture.

“I dunno, Samu. One second I'm takin’ shots with Bo-kun. The next second my head’s on the nasty bathroom floor and Suna’s sittin’ next to me and cacklin’ to himself while typin’ on his phone.”

Osamu lifts a suspicious eyebrow.

“What?”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“That’s  _ all _ , you asshole.”

“Are you  _ sure _ ?”

“Ugh, okay. Fine.  _ Fine. _ ” Atsumu groans in resignation. “ _ Maybe _ I was complainin’ to Suna about how Omi-kun doesn’t like me. But I dunno. I was drunk.” 

Duh. Atsumu didn’t have to tell him that for Osamu to know, but it’s nonetheless nice to receive confirmation straight from Atsumu’s dehydrated lips. 

Sakusa Kiyoomi could not be bothered to glance twice at Atsumu. Osamu knows about this because ever since Atsumu and Sakusa became teammates, Atsumu has become little more than a pining loser. He subjects Osamu to constant bitching about every single time Sakusa says something rude, and somewhere along the way, the bitching became attached to backhanded compliments that made Osamu question if Atsumu ever hated Sakusa in the first place.

Now, he knows, Atsumu didn’t. It’s a complicated and unfortunate situation where Atsumu’s pathetic inability to communicate hinders him from making progress. To put it simply, Atsumu is heels over head for Sakusa, one enormous feeling swelling to the next, yet he hasn’t done anything about it, much to Osamu’s annoyance. It’s at the point where Osamu has strongly considered intervening and telling Sakusa himself. He likes to think he’s less of a nosy asshole than Atsumu, but the impulse is still there.

Osamu has only met Sakusa a handful of times, same as the rest of Atsumu’s volleyball team. If Sakusa is anything like his first impression, he’s the exact opposite of Atsumu. And he’s also the exact opposite of the kind of guy Osamu ever thought Atsumu would catch feelings for.

“So...what? You were down in the dumps because of some prickly teammate that won’t smooch you, so you told Suna to flame yer ass on social media before face plantin’ on the bathroom floor?”

“ _ No. _ Suna was the one eggin’ me on. Sayin’ that Sakusa was the one missin’ out, not me, which is so fuckin’ lame but I was so fuckin’ drunk that of course I got all pumped up over it.” Atsumu takes another slow sip of water and wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. “I can’t remember who suggested the fuckin’ Inarizaki datin’ group. I feel like he planted the idea in my head.”

“Have you asked him?”

“I told him to come over. He should be here…” Atsumu’s voice trails off as he glances at the clock on his dresser. “Now, actually.”

“Didja see the screenshots I sent you?”

“Yeah. What the fuck was that?”

“Wadaya  _ think _ it was?” Osamu sighs and moves to pull out his phone from his pocket. He re-opens Instagram again—alarmed that there have been  _ more _ notifications—and shoves it in Atsumu’s face. “Look at this, jerkwad.”

Atsumu swats Osamu’s hand out of the way, but not before glancing at the screen as Osamu scrolls. He squints—unlike Osamu, Atsumu refuses to wear glasses—and understanding falls on his face as he snorts. “Huh. I've been gettin’ stuff like that, too. I didn't think anyone would accidentally add you.”

“Some random girl in the dinin’ hall assumed I was you, Tsumu.”

“Yeah? And? That happens all the time.”

“This is different. I don’t want people to think I’m part of that mess in the SID group. Didja ask Suna to take it off the page?”

“I was too hungover to think about it this mornin’.” Atsumu lets out a disgusting belch. “I’ll fix it when—” A knock at the door interrupts him, and Atsumu gives Osamu his best pleading expression.

Osamu sighs and gets up to welcome the infamous visitor.

“Atsumu, before you—” Suna abruptly cuts off once he registers that it’s not Atsumu holding the door open. “Ah. Sorry.”

Osamu offers a brusque nod. “Suna.”

“Miya.”

It’s not that Osamu hates or even dislikes Suna Rintarou. There’s no particular reason for him to harbor any negative feelings about Suna, but there’s something about him that puts Osamu on edge. 

They first met last year at a party Atsumu dragged Osamu to. Osamu has a distinct memory of thinking that Suna’s posture was incredibly bad. He also vaguely recalls Suna provoking Atsumu into drinking way too much way too quickly, and then attempting to do the same with Osamu, but Osamu had refused. 

Suna’s elusive in every sense of the word. His hair is long and dark and his eyes always have a mischievous gleam to them, and it always makes Osamu feel like he’s the punchline of a joke that he didn’t even hear. Like most volleyball players, Suna is tall, roped with lean muscle along his torso and his legs. Osamu has seen Suna play when he attends Atsumu’s matches—he doesn’t say much, nor does he pick fights with opposing teams, but something about Suna’s presence on the court deeply unsettles Osamu.

Perhaps it’s because Osamu was a spiker in high school, and he knows what it’s like to have an intimidating middle blocker like Suna stare him down. Suna’s play style is entirely unlike any middle blocker Osamu has seen before, from his lightning fast reflexes to the way he manipulates the other team’s blockers. Osamu remembers the first time he witnessed it, from Suna’s run up into a cross shot to the miraculous line he hit, precise and swift, twisting his entire torso to do it. His play style alone is incredibly manipulative. Osamu is sure it transfers into his everyday life as well.

To Osamu, it always looks like Suna’s scheming, both on the court and off it, and in this case, he’s planned and executed the downfall of Atsumu’s reputation. 

“Can I come in?” 

Osamu wants to deny him entrance. He knows he shouldn’t blame Suna for this whole ordeal—Atsumu should own up to at least half of the responsibility—but Suna sets off Osamu’s reflexive judgement. He steps aside as Suna walks inside the room and he notices how the hems of his flannel pajama pants drag along the floor. “Glad to see you finally with the living, Atsumu.”

“And if I’d died, whose fault would that be, huh?”

Suna’s mouth turns up in a sly smile as he jumps onto the other end of the bed. Osamu cautiously takes his seat once more, inching back a little. “I’m not the one that told you to go shot-for-shot with Bokuto.”

“Pretty sure you’re the one that—”

“Hey.”

Osamu’s voice cuts through the escalating argument, and Suna and Atsumu both turn to look at him. He crosses his arms once more and stares flatly at them. “So you wanna tell me the real reason why Tsumu ended up as Inarizaki’s biggest meme?”

Atsumu’s face crumples. He collapses backwards, plate of onigiri half-eaten and resting on his thighs, and Osamu wrinkles his nose when flecks of rice stick to the blanket. Atsumu really has to stop eating in his bed.

“This is the end of me.”

“Stop bein’ melodramatic.”

“I can’t go anywhere anymore. I ain’t showin’ face anywhere outside this stupid dorm. This is all  _ your _ fault.” Atsumu jabs a finger in Suna’s direction, but Suna doesn’t even flinch.

He does, however, raise his eyebrows, staring down Atsumu the same way he’ll intimidate an opponent in a match. It makes the hairs on the back of Osamu’s neck stand up. He hopes he never has to cross paths with that look, at least not directly. “Hold on a second. Atsumu.  _ You’re _ the one who practically begged me to—”

“Did not.”

“Now you’re just being a brat.”

Osamu snorts at this, and Suna’s eyes snap back at him. Osamu quickly looks away and becomes preoccupied with the striped pattern of Atsumu’s comforter.

“Atsumu.” Suna grips Atsumu’s ankle and shakes him, eliciting a yelp, and Atsumu shoots up. Atsumu scowls as he yanks his legs away. Osamu grabs the plate of onigiri before it can fall, scowling, and Atsumu leans against the wall with his knees pulled to his chest. “You were busy moping over Sakusa—”

“Was not.”

“You literally just told me you were.”

“Fuck off, Samu.”

“And then next thing I knew, you got all gung-ho about being posted in the Facebook group. You were all, like—‘Omi-kun might not want me, but sure as heck there are people who want my ass. Let’s show ’em, Suna. Put me in SID. Put me in and gas me up. I’m ready and I’m over Omi Omi startin’ right now. Suna, it’s time for some real hot boy shit.’” Suna snorts. “Or something like that.”

Osamu cringes at the sloppy imitation of the Kansai dialect, and Atsumu looks about two seconds away from passing out after reliving the embarrassment of his past self. “Tsumu…”

“ _ Ugh. _ And you actually  _ did it? _ ”

“Well, yeah. You kept heckling me into it. Even while you were throwing up in the toilet. Do you know how disgusting it is to have to watch you puke in the toilet while also crying over some stupid crush?”

“I didn’t—”

“Who the fuck do you think was the one that made sure I listed your ‘monster dick’ as one of your pros? Do you really think I would put something about your penis out into the public?”

Atsumu’s eye twitches and he opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

Osamu sighs. “Can’t you just remove it?” he asks. “This ain’t just messin’ with Tsumu, y’know. People are comin’ into my DMs, too.”

Suna tilts his head and blinks. “Sorry, what?”

Osamu rolls his eyes and shows Suna his Instagram message requests, and he wants to punch the amused smirk that broadens into a grin. “Holy fuck. This is hilarious.”

“For  _ you _ maybe.” Osamu snatches his phone back as Suna makes an attempt to scroll further. “It ain’t funny to me.”

“C’mon, you two. Lighten up.”

Atsumu moves to kick Suna off the bed with his heel, but Suna grabs it and flings it to the side, sending Atsumu toppling. “Easy for  _ you _ to say. You weren’t the one who had yer character defamed in front of the entire fuckin’ student population of Inarizaki.”

“Actually, you defamed your own character first.”

“Sunarin. I will personally—”

“Just relax.” Suna waves off Atsumu’s oncoming rant, and the presumptuous movement makes Osamu’s blood boil. Few things are worse than having his concerns dismissed by some son of a bitch who thinks everything is a joke. One exception is Atsumu’s concerns being dismissed at the same time.

The only one who can clown Atsumu this much is Osamu, and even then, he’d never cross this line. This is too much.

“Suna.” Osamu tries very hard to keep his voice level. Suna looks back at him with those stupid piercing eyes, and it takes all his guts to not glance away. “You gotta get rid of it.”

“Why? Atsumu, haven’t you been getting suitors checking you out? Isn’t that what you wanted? You’ve been pining over Sakusa for way too long. Like you said, time to move on.” Suna shrugs as he stands back up. “Personally I think the funny shitposts tend to do better than the semi-serious ones about finding a date, so maybe you’ll find someone as off the rails as you are.”

“I ain’t talkin’ to none—”

“I’m not getting rid of it until you do.” Suna heads to the door. He yawns and stretches, and the bottom of his shirt lifts up so Osamu catches a quick glimpse of the small of his back. “This is tough love, Atsumu, and it’s for your own good. I’m done watching you moan over Sakusa and not do anything about it. Let me know if you find anyone good through it. If you don’t within the next couple weeks, I’ll delete it.”

“What kinda backwards logic is that?” Atsumu snarls. “Take it  _ down, _ Suna, or I’ll report it and ask the admins to boot you from the group.”

“Do you forget that  _ I’m _ one of the admins?” Suna huffs a laugh. “But sure, you can report it. I don’t really care.” He opens the door and props it open with his foot, giving one last salute. “I’m gonna go eat dinner now.” He pauses. “Oh, and Atsumu.”

Atsumu glares at him.

“Let me know if Sakusa expresses interest in your monster dick.”

Atsumu yells, “Fuck all of you and yer stupid triangle head!” before the door slams shut, and that’s when Osamu realizes that Suna never even offered him an apology.

* * *

The murmurs follow him everywhere. Osamu settles into class on Monday morning, laptop pulled up in front of him, and adjusts his glasses on his nose. Osamu’s preferred spot is in the back left corner of the room, where he has ample space to lay out his belongings and he can people-watch when he’s bored.

He’s scrolling through his text messages, still active since Saturday, and is disgruntled when he realizes no one ever answered when he asked who was going to scrub the toilets. He’s about to text Akagi to take care of the bathrooms when he hears a very distinct whisper.

“Dude, that’s the Miya kid, isn’t it?”

Osamu freezes.

Then: “Wait, I didn’t know he wore glasses.”

Osamu groans internally and slumps further in his seat. He knows the commentary came from somewhere to his right, but he can’t bring himself to glance over in their direction. 

It’s at this moment that Osamu begins to feel like there’s someone watching him. Or maybe a few somebodies. He catches classmates staring at him, classmates who never gave him the time of day before this whole shitstorm happened. 

This can’t be happening. This shouldn’t be happening.

But it’s happening.

Osamu can’t deny it, because when the professor begins his lecture and students quickly begin to lose focus, he  _ sees it _ .

He sees a student in the third-from-front row, nudging his neighbor. He sees him pull up Facebook and gesture vaguely behind them in Osamu’s general direction.

He sees them covertly glance over their shoulder when the professor’s not looking. He watches them hold their hands to their mouth in an attempt to suppress their silent laughter. 

When the professor picks randomly from the student list to answer a question about the impact of globalization on the Chinese spice trade, he just so happens to select  _ Miya _ . It leads Osamu to believe that there’s a god out there with some sort of vendetta against him. He stumbles through his answer with fifty pairs of eyes staring at him, and part of him wishes lightning would strike him right now and put him out of his misery.

“Thank you for your answer, Miya,” his professor says with a satisfied nod—and this should be a relief, but it isn’t, because he doesn’t say _Osamu_. It only allows the misconception to fester.

Osamu scrambles to pack his belongings as soon as the lecture closes. He took half-assed notes that are choppy and ridden in typos, but it’s hard to focus when it feels like everyone else’s focus is on you.

“Hey,” a guy says as he passes by, and Osamu glances up, bewildered. Osamu doesn’t know his name, but he does remember watching the boy doze off in class multiple times.

“Not Atsumu,” Osamu says, which draws a blank look of surprise. Osamu doesn’t elaborate, and doesn’t wait for the boy to respond. 

He bolts for the door and keeps his head tucked down. He doesn’t care if he looks like an ass. If all his classes end up being like this, Atsumu’s idea of staying in his room for the rest of semester sounds more and more appealing.

* * *

> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> One of my friends just asked me
> 
> “You live with that Atsumu kid right?”
> 
> LMAO
> 
> **Kosaku Yuto**
> 
> WAIT SAME THO
> 
> CUZ THE ROOMMATE PIC ON MY IG
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> for fuck’s sake
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> Osamu now is your chance
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> ?
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> Just start fucking with people and pretend to be Atsumu
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> people already think i’m him
> 
> hurting his reputation
> 
> will only hurt
> 
> me
> 
> **Kosaku Yuto**
> 
> The way you are now the discount Atsumu
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> fuck u yuto
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> 2-for-1 special
> 
> You wanted one miyasshole? Now you get two
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> fuck OFF
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> Honestly I only ever wanted one in my life
> 
> **Kosaku Yuto**
> 
> Same
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> Same
> 
> **Kosaku Yuto**
> 
> If I have to suffer then so do they
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> FUCK ALL OF YOU. i’m looking for new roomies
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> L m a o look for them in SID

* * *

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> hey loser
> 
> are you ok
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> no i’m NOT OKAY
> 
> my life is OVER
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> ok you’re fine bye
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> BITCH
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> has omi omi come running yet
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> .
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> i take that as a no
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> fuck off brat
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> glad to see i am
> 
> once again
> 
> suffering
> 
> for YOUR problems
> 
> that are STILL NOT FIXED
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> i’d feel bad for you if you weren’t such a DICK about it
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> he said, like a liar
> 
> _ Miya Atsumu has sent a photo. _
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> what am i looking at
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> THERE. i talked to some people
> 
> now i can get suna to take it down. OK?
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> did you really use ball handling as a pickup line
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> FUCK OFF GOODBYE

* * *

> **Riseki Heisuke**
> 
> I’ve had six different people ask me about you so far
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> please tell them to stop
> 
> please tell me you cleared it up
> 
> **Riseki Heisuke**
> 
> Don’t worry
> 
> I told them you’re a GREAT senpai 😉
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> i cannot fuckin stand you

* * *

Osamu hits his limit when a guy from the basketball team propositions him to a one night stand while he’s studying in a secluded corner of the library.

“I’m not Atsumu,” Osamu interrupts. “I’m his twin brother and I’m studying. Sorry.”

This, Osamu decides, has got to stop. He reopens the link to the cursed post to see if it’s been taken down yet. Instead, he’s greeted with a hundred and four friend requests and a buttload of notifications that make it clear that even if Suna were to delete it now, it would be too late—the damage has already been done. 

One of the top comments catches his eye.

> **Sakusa Kiyoomi** Ew.

Despite being continuously annoyed by Atsumu, Osamu feels a pang of sympathy for him. This might be a joke if it were sent by Gin or Akagi or even Osamu, but from someone like Sakusa, it sounds more like an insult.

Osamu strongly considers replying to the post. Something simple, like,  **please don’t associate me with this miya thank you** _. _ But he has a feeling it’ll get buried in the sea of comments, and, furthermore, he doesn’t want to draw even more attention to himself.

Because Osamu’s always flown under the radar, and he very much prefers it that way. He decided to be normal and kind and respectful in all the ways Atsumu wasn’t. This is a double-edged sword; people who know him take him more seriously. But people who don’t know him—well, they don’t know him at all; they only know Atsumu.

Osamu sees the small circle that showcases a closeup of Suna’s face. Even in his profile photo, he looks bored and sleepy, but now Osamu knows the menace hiding beneath the flat, unbothered gaze. Just staring at his face annoys him.

Outside of Atsumu’s general brattiness, it takes a lot to irk Osamu. He’s laid-back, albeit easily stressed when it comes to finals week and people who don’t clean up the showers after use. But Osamu’s not hard to get along with, and it takes some serious maliciousness to piss him off.

But when Osamu narrows his eyes at Suna’s stupid face on his phone screen, the irritation intensifies. So much so that Osamu decides to give up on studying and, instead, pay a quick visit to the Inarizaki University Men’s Volleyball Team.

* * *

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> what time is your practice
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> 6-9pm why
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> see you soon
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> ??

* * *

The familiar smell of stale sweat and rubber greets Osamu as he shoves the gym doors open. He’s swung by Atsumu’s practices a handful of times, mostly to drop off stuff that Atsumu forgets in exchange for promises that he never keeps. If Osamu were as petty as Atsumu, he’d heckle him until he’d cash in the favors. Unfortunately, Atsumu is as useless as the next self-absorbed college student, so there’s not much Osamu would be able to ask for, anyway.

There’s a squeak of gym shoes against the floor as the team gathers around their coach for final words. Osamu lingers near the door. From here, he can see Atsumu’s shiny blonde head sticking out like a sore thumb.

It’s funny, he thinks to himself, how Atsumu gravitates towards the empty slot next to Sakusa Kiyoomi. It would almost be cute if it weren’t kind of sad to see Atsumu unconsciously orbiting around Sakusa without even trying.

Their coach dismisses them, but Atsumu hangs back to chat with Bokuto and Hinata. Osamu can hear them from across the gymnasium—Bokuto’s bright laughter, Hinata exclaiming, “I can’t believe Suna did that!”—and he secretly hopes they make Atsumu feel better.

Suna’s speaking with the coach right now, and he’s the person Osamu wants to have a talk with, so he’s forced to wait. However, Osamu’s eyes flicker over towards Sakusa, who picks up his water bottle and heads towards the door—right where Osamu stands.

Sakusa has a neutral expression on his face, but he squints when he sees Osamu. 

“Miya,” he says.

Osamu nods. “Hi.”

Sakusa has always been polite to him—actually, no. He was a little cold the first time they interacted, but that quickly melted when Sakusa realized that Osamu is nothing like his brother. They’re not friends nor will they ever be anything more than acquaintances, but they greet each other in passing.

Of course, this disappointed Atsumu.  _ Why’re you so much nicer to my brother than to me, Omi Omi? _

To which the response is always:  _ Have you ever heard yourself speak? _

Part of Osamu has always wondered if this is an act. He wonders about the  **Ew** comment Sakusa left on Atsumu’s ‘dating’ profile.

“How’ve you been?” Osamu says. Sakusa gawks a bit at him. It’s warranted, he supposes, since Osamu isn’t exactly known for his small talk, and neither is Sakusa.

“Fine.” He hesitates. “And you?”

Osamu snorts. “It could be better. You’ve got no idea what helluva time I’ve been havin’, thanks to Suna’s stupid post.”

At the mention of the Facebook post, Sakusa’s face darkens almost imperceptibly. His eyes narrow and if Osamu weren’t paying close attention to him, he might have missed it. “Oh. That.”

It’s not the reaction he expected, and Osamu’s not really sure if the disgust is from displeasure at the contents of the post, or the fact that Suna posted it in the first place. If it’s the latter—and that’s a big if—then there’s hope for Atsumu yet. But Osamu doesn’t want to get his brother’s hope up with something that could as easily crush him.

Osamu clears his throat, feeling a strange obligation to press harder on this—especially when he sees Atsumu glancing over in their direction with both suspicion and surprise. He can read an entire paragraph in his eyes.  _ Don’t fuckin’ mess around or I’ll end you, Samu.  _

Believe it or not, Osamu’s always rooted for Atsumu. Even if the dickhead doesn’t deserve it.

“I have no idea what the hell Suna was thinkin’,” Osamu continues. “Kinda crazy if you ask me.”

“I wish I knew,” Sakusa mutters to himself before raising a hand in a curt farewell. “See you around, Miya.”

Osamu waves and watches as Sakusa ambles off to the locker room. He has no idea how Atsumu managed to fall for his antithesis. Sakusa’s smart, good-looking, and an excellent volleyball player, and completely and wholly emotionally unavailable.

But Osamu can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to the story. He just hasn’t figured it out yet.

Osamu crosses the gym. Atsumu has his hands on his hips and stares his brother down, but Osamu ignores him. Suna has finished his conversation with the coach and is scrolling through his phone, and Osamu wants nothing more than to take the damn thing and fling it across the court.

“You.”

Suna looks up. His hair sticks to his forehead and his face is still flushed from exercise, sweat shining on his skin. “Miya. What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

Suna locks his phone and gives Osamu a look like he’s crazy, which Osamu doesn’t appreciate.

“Talk about what?” he asks.

“You need to take down the fuckin’ post in SID, Suna.”

“Oh. That’s what this is about?”

“Why isn’t it down yet? Tsumu said he talked to some people who messaged him. You said you’d take it down once he starts makin’ an effort to move on from his stupid gay pinin’. I checked it earlier. Y’know it’s still up, right?”

“The hell’s goin’ on here?” Atsumu’s voice breaks through the side. “Samu, you didn’t tell me you were gonna be droppin’ by practice today.” Atsumu stands between Suna and Osamu, and he wipes at his forehead with the hem of his shirt.

“Yes, I did, you scrub. I texted you earlier.”

“I thought you were askin’ so you could bring me food or somethin’. Otherwise I woulda left by now. And what were you doin’ talkin’ to Omi Omi?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Suna flashes a sneaky grin that makes Atsumu frown.

“I was just sayin’ hi.” Osamu turns his attention back to Suna. “Suna Rintarou, I don’t even fuckin’ know you, but you and I are about to have some real beef if you’re sittin’ around twiddlin’ yer thumbs instead of fixin’ the mess  _ you _ made.”

Atsumu and Suna collapse in a stunned silence, and both of them stare at Osamu. This may be the most Osamu’s ever spoken to Suna in one conversation, let alone one breath.

“Huh,” Suna says.

“What are  _ you _ gettin’ so worked up about?” Atsumu demands. “It ain’t even yer profile!”

“Tsumu, do I need to fuckin’ remind you that we got the same face? People think I’m you and they keep talkin’ about me and tryin’ to get me to schedule dickin’ appointments with them!”

Suna bursts out laughing. Osamu is exasperated, and he can feel the time bomb ticking under his chest. Under normal circumstances, he might notice how Suna’s facial features soften as he laughs. He might notice how Suna tosses his head back, how his tongue presses against his teeth, and how his eyes light up with a devastating crinkle that is both endearing and cute.

Osamu might notice that he’s beginning to observe things about Suna that he’s missed before, but he refuses. He forces himself to stick to the reason he came here. “I’m glad my misery is a great source of entertainment for you,” Osamu snaps. 

“Are you doin’ alright, Samu?” For the first time since Saturday, Atsumu asks with a rare sincerity shows in the wrinkle between his eyebrows. “You sound a bit unhinged.”

“You need to cut it out. Take the post down and gimme back peace and quiet in my life. I’m sick of this shit.”

Suna’s eyes narrow again. Though his lips still curl up in a smile, there’s a coldness to it as he stares unflinchingly at Osamu’s face.

“Stop taking it so seriously,” Suna says. “If you want, I can put you up on there instead. I’ll even make it a real dating profile. Would that make you feel better?”

“Don’t—”

“Might even get more likes than Atsumu’s. Since you’re not nearly as ridiculous as he is. I can have it up in an hour.”

“No—”

“Hey,” Atsumu interrupts. “One of these days you’re gonna really insult me.”

Suna sticks his tongue out. “Oh, that’s hilarious, coming from  _ you. _ ”

“Can you, for once,” Osamu snarls, “back the  _ fuck _ off?”

“Whoa.” Suna holds up his hands in faux surrender. “Touchy.”

Osamu takes a deep inhale that comes out more like a growl, and even Atsumu places a hand on Osamu’s shoulder. “Hey, Samu, I think you’re gettin’ a teensy bit worked up over this—”

“I’m tired of this, Tsumu. People think I’m a fuckin’ nut job and they keep starin’ at me durin’ class. I can’t even do my laundry in peace.” Osamu jerks his shoulder out from under Atsumu’s hand and throws another glare in Suna’s direction. 

“It’s not like taking it down will do any good.” Suna places his hands on his hips. Osamu hates that he’s right. “It’s not a big deal. Atsumu’s gotten over it. Right, Atsumu?”

“Yeah, because he was lookin’ for a distraction. And y’know, Tsumu, we both know you stir up shit for fun wherever you go. But me, I ain’t lookin’ for a distraction  _ or _ to stir up shit. And I definitely ain’t lookin’ to be turned into a meme.” Osamu clenches his fists. “You’re messin’ with my life.”

“I always thought you two were pretty different,” Suna drawls with amusement that makes Osamu’s nostrils flare in indignation. “But turns out both of you really  _ are _ sliced from the same DNA.”

“You’re on thin fuckin’ ice, Suna.”

“That’s funny. Atsumu said the same thing to me twenty minutes ago.”

Osamu has to actively suppress the urge to scream. “I ain’t anythin’ like Tsumu, thanks.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Suna’s comment drives a pick into Osamu’s brain and he shoves past both of them to stomp towards the door. He doesn’t know why Suna’s being such a dick, nor does he understand how Atsumu can seemingly be nonchalant over something he’d been moping about for the past few days. 

It’s almost like Suna enjoys riling Osamu up. It doesn’t make sense. They’re barely acquaintances—hell, they’re strangers. Osamu knows jack shit about Suna other than the fact that he’s always late to parties. He has no business messing with...well, Osamu’s business.

But as he storms out of the gym, he throws one last angry look over his shoulder. Atsumu has lost interest in Osamu and is typing away on his phone, but he catches a glimpse of Suna staring back at him with an infuriating smirk that makes his blood boil.

* * *

> **Kosaku Yuto**
> 
> Hey
> 
> Osamu
> 
> Thoughts?
> 
> _ Kosaku Yuto has sent a photo. _
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> what
> 
> who is this
> 
> **Kosaku Yuto**
> 
> One of my lab partners
> 
> He thinks you’re a catch
> 
> Well
> 
> He thinks Atsumu is a catch
> 
> And then I told him about you too
> 
> And how you’re the better catch
> 
> So now I convinced him
> 
> You’re a catch
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> oh my god leave me alone
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> He’s cute
> 
> Go for it Osamu
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> absolutely not
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> Wait yeah go for it Osamu
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> NO
> 
> i’m busy trying to figure out
> 
> how to commit homicide
> 
> without being caught
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> Lmao bet who we k-wording
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> suna rintarou
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> Wait I like Suna why are we k-wording him
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> because he is RUINING MY LIFE?
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> Sounds gay
> 
> **Kosaku Yuto**
> 
> Homocide ahaha
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> Osamu everyday you sound more and more like Atsumu
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> do NOT associate me with him thanks
> 
> **Kosaku Yuto**
> 
> Ok have fun k-wording Suna 😘
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> Wait so...hear me out…
> 
> Miya SID profile the remix
> 
> And by that I mean
> 
> Let’s put you in there to find your homocide partner
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> i will
> 
> literally
> 
> k-word
> 
> with two Ls
> 
> you
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> Okay fine
> 
> Gin what bout you
> 
> You’re still single
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> SO ARE YOU????
> 
> **Kosaku Yuto**
> 
> Bitch we are all still single
> 
> But please. Yes. Tell me more about Miya SID the remix
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> i am removing myself from this narrative.
> 
> _ Miya Osamu has left the conversation. _

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> are you actually mad
> 
> suna wants to know
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> piss off

* * *

As if the shit week couldn’t get any worse, Osamu gets a couple of papers back with less-than-great grades. He’s not a terrible student by any means, but it’s enough to turn his already sour-mood into the lowest of lows.

He starts wearing a baseball hat and pulls it low over his eyes to avoid stares. Osamu deactivates his social media in order to maintain his sanity and attempts to settle back into a semblance of normalcy by the middle of the week. His friends had been right; while there are still lingering stares, the initial spike in interest calms down after a few days and Osamu finally has space to breathe.

It’s during this lull back to ordinary routine that someone effectively breaks it. Osamu is in the middle of putting the clean dishes back in the cupboards when his phone goes off.

> **Unknown**
> 
> Hey
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> hello?
> 
> **Unknown**
> 
> Miya
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> if you’re looking for atsumu
> 
> sorry that’s not me
> 
> **Unknown**
> 
> Yeah Atsumu gave me your number
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> oh
> 
> who is this
> 
> **Unknown**
> 
> It’s me
> 
> Suna

Even just reading Suna’s name is enough to make Osamu seethe. He makes a mental note to tell Atsumu to stop handing out his number to people.

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> great! never contact me again
> 
> **Unknown**
> 
> Wait 
> 
> Osamu
> 
> Can we talk?
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> no
> 
> **Unknown**
> 
> I know you’re pissed
> 
> Let me make it up to you
> 
> Please

Osamu doesn’t know what to make of it. Quite frankly, he’s still butthurt that Suna was an ass to him. Even if Osamu  _ was _ being a bit sensitive, Suna has no right to be playing him like this, nor does have any right to continue mocking him for getting upset over it.

He doesn’t even know how Suna could make up for it. It’s not like he can undo time.

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> i don’t know what you want me to say
> 
> **Unknown**
> 
> Say yes :)

That fucking smile. Osamu definitely doesn’t trust that fucking smile. He definitely doesn’t trust himself around that smile.

> **Unknown**
> 
> Well. I am outside your building
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> …
> 
> **Unknown**
> 
> Atsumu told me where you live
> 
> I promise I’m not a creep
> 
> If you REALLY don’t want to
> 
> Say the word and I’ll leave

Osamu sighs. He wishes, more than anything, that he wasn’t so willing to accommodate people. It’s a useful trait to have as someone who wants to eventually work in the hospitality industry. But it makes being a bitch difficult.

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> fine.

Osamu pulls on a sweatshirt and sticks his feet into a pair of slides Atsumu gifted him three years ago. He grabs his phone and his keys and hollers at Gin to vacuum the kitchen floor. He receives a noncommittal grunt, which is more than he expected, and heads downstairs.

When Osamu steps outside of his apartment building, he sees Suna sitting on the steps in front of the complex. Osamu has to resist the urge to kick the back of his head, just like he does with Atsumu.

“You’d better have a good reason to drag me out at this hour.” Osamu comes up beside him but doesn’t move to sit down. 

Suna looks up, face as impassive as ever. “Ah. You actually came.”

“Of course I did.” Osamu crosses his arms. “What was I supposed to do? You woulda found a way to piss me off anyway.”

The corners of Suna’s lips quirk up. He stands up and dusts off the seat of his pants. “You’re definitely snarkier than I originally thought.”

“Thanks,” Osamu says in a flat tone. “I guess I get that from my brother.”

“Atsumu always said you’re as off the rails as he is, but I never believed him.” Suna jerks his chin towards one of the sidewalks that circles around the block, and Osamu follows. “Guess you proved me wrong.”

Osamu scowls. “It’s only cuz of that—”

“I know, I know. The dumb SID post. Honestly, I was pretty wasted when I wrote it. It probably would’ve been a lot worse if I were sober.”

They don’t say anything for a few minutes as they circle around the building. The sidewalk is empty, and Osamu can’t help but look Suna’s way, wary and irritated, every few steps. He’s not sure what Suna wants or what he’s trying to prove. It’s not like they have any obligation to resolve things and be friends; they’re not teammates; they don’t share any connection with the exception of Atsumu.

Osamu glances at Suna’s face and wonders, for a fleeting moment, how it’s possible for someone to look so punch-worthy and lovely at the same time. 

“I didn’t put up the SID post to get Atsumu new suitors or whatever.” Suna breaks the silence with a quiet sigh. “I mean, I told Atsumu to get over the whole Sakusa thing because it’s kind of lame, but actually, I put it up to see if Sakusa would get jealous. And maybe to provoke him a bit.”

Osamu’s irritation vanishes at this statement. “Huh?”

Suna glances at Osamu from the corner of his eye. “I know you don’t really know Sakusa that well, but I think the pining is two-sided.”

“What makes you think that?”

Suna shrugs. “I see it.”

“Meanin’?”

Suna shrugs again, and Osamu frowns. This isn’t the most compelling argument. 

“Well, even if yer intentions might be noble, that doesn’t change the fact that I suffered from this, too.” Osamu kicks at the ground, dust settling in the air, and he scrunches his nose at the events of the past week. “Ends don’t justify the means.”

“Let’s focus on the ends, then. And talk about the means after.”

Osamu frowns. “What?”

“I’m talking about Sakusa and Atsumu.”

“Okay.”

“I’m about to meddle with them again. And I need your help.”

Osamu groans. He doesn’t  _ do _ ‘meddling’. That's just not his thing. “You barely know me, you put me on the public radar—and not in a good way—and what I’m hearin’ is you came here not to make things right with me, but to enlist someone in helpin’ you set up my idiot brother with yer idiot teammate.”

Suna hums. “Essentially, yes.”

“Why’re you even this interested in gettin’ them together?” Osamu doesn’t get this invested in his own love life, let alone his brother’s. “It ain’t even any of yer business.”

“Osamu.” The way Suna says his name makes his toes curl. “I’ve put up with their dancing-around-each-other for the better part of the past year. They aren’t the only ones suffering.” Suna sighs. “We’re all sick and tired of watching them. It’s pathetic.”

“We?”

“The whole team and me.”

“But—”

“And I'll be the first to admit that I probably shouldn’t have put Atsumu’s advertisement or whatever on SID. Again: I was drunk. And it seemed like a good place to start. At the time, at least.” Suna rubs at the back of his neck. He’s only wearing a t-shirt despite the brisk wind, and Osamu wonders if he’s the type to never get cold. “If Sakusa were the more sociable type, I would’ve just gone to him directly. But Sakusa is probably as much of a moron as Atsumu is.”

Osamu kind of hates that Suna’s starting to make sense. He only knows Atsumu’s perspective, so he’s assumed that the feelings must be unrequited. He hasn’t taken that much thought into whether or not Sakusa might feel the same way. “So you put a shitpost that embarrassed my brother in Subtle Inarizaki Dating to make Sakusa jealous?”

“Ah...kinda? I guess I wanted to make Sakusa realize he’s going to run out of time. So he should ask out your brother now. Also, I’m not sure if he’s entirely aware that he likes Atsumu.” Suna snorts. “Sakusa looks smart and all, but when it comes to emotions, I have a feeling that he’s even worse than Atsumu.”

Osamu can’t imagine that being the case—there’s no one worse at crushes than Atsumu—but he nods along. “If you’re so certain the feelings are mutual,” he asks, “why not just tell Tsumu that?”

Suna raises a lazy eyebrow. “Have you met your brother?”

He has a point.

“That’s where you come in.”

Suna slows down and fully turns his face towards Osamu. It’s bathed in moonlight, and Osamu resents the murmur in his chest. “What?”

“I need you to tell Sakusa that Atsumu’s been crushing on him for the past year.”

Osamu hesitates. “I dunno if I feel comfortable with that.” 

“I’ve literally told Sakusa that Atsumu’s always flirting with him. He never believes me. ‘That’s just how Miya is.’ That sort of BS.” Suna frowns. Even his pinched expression is cute. “I guess that's my fault, being an instigator.”

“No shit.”

“I think Sakusa at least takes you seriously, which is more than I can say about the rest of the volleyball team.” Suna stuffs his hands in his pockets, and Osamu thinks he can see the slightest fondness in his eyes when he mentions Sakusa. “You’re a complete third-party, so maybe it’ll have a different impact than if I provoke him into broaching the topic with Atsumu. Also, you’re his twin brother, who knows him better than anyone else in the world, right?”

“So, what—I just show up, tell him to ask out my fuckwad brother to put both of us out of our misery, and that’s it?”

Suna looks pointedly at him, like he's stupid. “Yeah.”

“Kinda dumb plan, if you ask me.”

“It’s better than my other idea.”

“Which was?”

“You pretending to be Atsumu and asking Sakusa out in person, then having Atsumu go on the date instead of you.”

Osamu sighs. He was right about Suna. He’s always up to no good. 

“And how does this help me?” Osamu tries to bring it back to the original reason he agreed to meet in the first place. 

“I’ll put a follow up post once they’re together,” Suna promises. “I can ping the entire group so they get a notification, and people will back off.” He pauses. “Probably.”

This sounds appealing. “I still ain’t lettin’ you get away for makin’ my life miserable in the first place. But whatever.” Osamu sighs. “I can’t guarantee nothin’, though.”

“That’s fine.”

They round the corner back to the front of the complex and Osamu reaches into his pocket for his keys. He isn’t sure if Suna wants to take another lap or if they’re done here, and he also isn’t sure if he  _ wants  _ to take another lap. 

Thankfully, Osamu doesn’t have to decide. Suna comes to a halt by the entrance, and Osamu is struck by the natural gravity of his presence. When he moves, Osamu matches his stride, and when he stops, Osamu stills beside him. It should be a cause for alarm; after all, he doesn’t know Suna nearly well enough to slip into a comfortable rhythm with him. “One other thing…”

Osamu swallows. “Yeah?”

Suna tilts his head curiously. A playful but serious smile plays on his lips. “Think you can forgive me for being kind of a dick? On Tuesday.”

Tuesday. Tuesday when he was pushing his buttons, and Osamu had effectively told him to fuck off. He didn’t think Suna cared enough to ask him about that. “Maybe. Jury’s still out but I'll letcha know.”

Suna lets out a hearty laugh, and Osamu feels the rumble in his chest. Osamu means it when he says it—at least, he thinks he does—but when Suna gives him a crooked grin and a salute as Osamu makes his way back inside the building, he knows he’s already lost. Any lingering annoyance that Osamu felt towards Suna has disappeared, replaced by an emotion Osamu is devastated to recognize: intrigue.

It doesn’t matter that Osamu has been wary about Suna since the day they met. It doesn’t matter that Suna’s stirred up unwanted attention in Osamu’s life. And it doesn’t matter that Suna already seems to know just how to push Osamu’s buttons to piss him off. His intense stares and cheeky smiles tug at Osamu’s attention all the same. 

When he gets back to the comfort of his apartment, Osamu flops back onto bed and sees that he has a new text message. 

> **Unknown**
> 
> Good night, Osamu

Osamu doesn’t reply, but after a moment’s hesitation, he clicks through his phone with swift presses and saves the contact information. 

**Suna Rintarou**

* * *

_ Akagi Michinari has added Miya Osamu to the conversation. _

> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> Dude come back
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> We miss you
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> are you going to stop harassing me
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> Cute of you to ask
> 
> No
> 
> _Ginjima Hitoshi has sent a photo._
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> what is this
> 
> **Kosaku Yuto**
> 
> It’s a draft of your SID profile
> 
> _ Miya Osamu has left the conversation. _

Osamu groans as he clicks his phone off. His roommates have way too much free time on their hands, and he refuses to read whatever disastrous profile they’ve put together together for him. They’re getting such a huge kick out of it that Osamu strongly considers hiring Suna to feature them instead and give them a taste of their own medicine.

But he has other more important things to tend to. Namely, Atsumu is finally getting over being embarrassed and has taken to bragging about all the hot people who have been sending him messages. Osamu prefers Atsumu-the-moody-brat over Atsumu-the-cocky-brat any day of the week, but it’s nice to see that he’s no longer questioning his existence on the planet.

It’s also nice to see that the only ones harassing Osamu now are his roommates. Osamu’s tried to fly under the radar as much as possible for the past week—he ducks out of class as soon as it’s over and he wears sunglasses when he’s out and about on campus. It’s interesting, though, how a few profiles have been posted on Subtle Inarizaki Dating since Suna advertised Atsumu, but none of them have gone quite as viral.

Atsumu’s back to such an insufferable self-absorbed jerk that Osamu almost wishes Suna would humiliate Atsumu all over again.

It’s Friday afternoon when he runs into Sakusa. It’s completely by chance—Osamu is waiting in line to get a coffee after his last class when he notices a familiar head of curly hair right in front of him.

“Sakusa?”

Sakusa turns back slowly, and recognition flickers in his eyes. “Miya.”

“Osamu,” he says, just to make sure. They’re in line for MSBY Cafe, an on-campus student-run coffee shop that some of his friends work at. Osamu is struck by how tall Sakusa is. No wonder Atsumu likes him. He’s always had a thing for tall boys. 

“I know which one you are.”

“Ah.” Osamu pauses. He’s just remembered that Suna had tasked him with the very important role of convincing Sakusa that Atsumu actually likes him. But it feels rude, barging into a sensitive topic like that right away, so Osamu makes a meager attempt at small talk. “Uh, how’s your day been?”

Sakusa gives him a weird look, but he shrugs. “Fine.”

“Are you done with classes for the day?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.”

Osamu winces at how terrible both of them are at this, and wishes he’d thought it through. The volleyball team has practice later this evening, and he’d been considering swinging by after. In other words, Osamu hasn’t yet planned how he’s going to tell Sakusa that his jerk-brother has a big fat crush on him.

“Is everything…better?” Sakusa asks.

Osamu blinks as his mind registers that Sakusa’s asking a question. “Wadaya mean?”

“The thing with the Facebook group.” Sakusa chews his lips, and his face strains as he tries to get out words. It occurs to Osamu that this sort of mundane and polite chatter is just as uncomfortable for Sakusa as it is for him. “I heard you were pretty upset about it.”

“Ah. That.” Osamu adjusts his backpack over his shoulder as they each take a step forward. “It’s whatever.” He pauses. “Tsumu got over it real fast. So I guess I just kinda got over it, too.”

This is a lie, of course, since every time anyone mentions any sort of social media platform Osamu flinches like he’s been kicked in the face. Osamu holds his breath and glances towards Sakusa, who stares forward in the direction of the coffee counter. He sees the smallest squint in Sakusa’s eye, the same one he’d seen before when he dropped by Atsumu’s practice.

Osamu doesn’t really consider himself emotionally intelligent, but he’s pretty sure that the vague annoyance means something.

“Yeah,” Sakusa says gruffly. “I can tell.”

“I think he’s gettin’ all gassed up from those stupid DMs. I try not to engage with that shit, even though it was kinda hard to avoid it at first.” Osamu runs through a million different scenarios for how this conversation could go in about half a second, and he still comes out short. So he proceeds to do what he does best: he makes fun of his brother. “I dunno why he bothers. Clearly he can’t keep anyone around long enough to date. I dunno who’d ever be interested in him.”

Sakusa frowns a bit and glances over at Osamu. His eyes scream the question,  _ why are you still talking? _

But Osamu presses on despite the dampness of his palms. “I just hope he knows that ain’t the way to go to get over anyone. It’s, um, temporary. The attention. But I guess he lets himself get distracted with that shit, anyway.”

“What?” Sakusa’s nose scrunches as he digests Osamu’s rambling. “Miya’s trying to get over someone?”

“Uh. Yes?”

“I didn’t know that.” Sakusa’s nose scrunch deepens. 

Osamu licks his lips. His mouth notoriously gets dry whenever he tries to lie. Suna totally threw him in the deep end with his scheming, and Osamu is thoroughly displeased to find out that he’s unprepared. “I thought everyone on yer team knew?”

“Who?”

“Y’mean you don’t know?”

Sakusa shakes his head, curls bouncing side to side. 

“Oh.”

“Who?” Sakusa repeats, tone clipped, a little more urgent. 

Osamu pauses. If Suna’s wrong, he could totally fuck things up for Atsumu. Of course, that depends on whether or not Atsumu even finds out that Sakusa knows. But if he does, then Atsumu might never talk to Osamu again.

Actually, Atsumu never talking to him again might be a good thing.

“You,” Osamu answers, like it’s obvious.

He holds his breath, waiting for the words to process. Sakusa stares at Osamu like he’s grown a third and maybe even a fourth eye, and Osamu can’t tell if it’s a sign that Sakusa is shocked with joy or shocked with disgust or shocked with fear. Maybe it’s a mix of all three. 

“What did you just say?” Sakusa finally asks. He’s so distracted that Osamu pseudo-ushers him forward to get closer to the register.

“That my brother likes you?”

Sakusa’s eyes widen.

Osamu chews the inside of his cheek before continuing. “Ah, shit. I thought you knew. Forget I said anythin’—”

“Since when did Miya like me?” Sakusa sounds borderline accusatory. “I didn’t know anything about this.”

_ Sakusa looks smart and all,  _ Suna had said,  _ but when it comes to crushes, I have a feeling that he's even worse than Atsumu. _

“He’s liked you since forever? I dunno. I thought it was obvious.”

“It’s not.”

So not only did Sakusa fall for an idiot, it looks like Atsumu did, too.

Osamu has a sudden urge to smack his forehead. “Look, I ain’t tellin’ you this because I’m tryna make things weird between you and my brother. But anyone could take one look at the fool and know he’s only got eyes for you.” Osamu shrugs. This, at least, is the truth, and the longer Sakusa’s jaw hangs slightly ajar, the more evidence Osamu has that Suna had been right.

“I see,” Sakusa mumbles. He’s blushing a little bit, face pinched in concentration the same way Osamu has noticed Sakusa gets when he’s in a match. It’s kind of cute, in a  _ gross-he-actually-likes-my-brother _ kind of way.

“So anyway. I hope I didn’t make it weird between you two. Tsumu’s been plannin’ on movin’ on anyway—”

“He was?” Osamu’s flinches as Sakusa’s head whips back in his direction. “Why?”

“Cuz the feelin’ ain’t mutual?” Atsumu totally fucking owes him. All of those **omi omi will never look at me that way** drunk chats and the **fml omi kun HATES me** text messages have shown to be a complete waste of time. 

Sakusa pauses.

Osamu looks at him.

Sakusa glances away, and it’s the most painful experience of Osamu’s life. 

“Well.” Osamu clears his throat. “Don’t tell him I said anythin’. He’ll kick my ass to Korea.”

“He should’ve said something,” Sakusa mutters, and Osamu isn’t sure if he’s supposed to hear that.

“Sakusa, it’s kind of you to think my brother’s capable of sayin’ somethin’ that requires more than half a brain cell. Hell would freeze over before he tells you about somethin’ like that.”

Sakusa makes a sound that’s somewhere between a grunt and a groan, and Osamu wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake him into action. 

“He should’ve told me.”

“Uh. He’s not great with that kinda thing.”

“I can’t believe he told you but not me.”

“I’m his brother?” This comes out more like a question than a statement. “We tell each other everythin’?”

But Osamu’s mind flashes back to talking to Suna, to Suna’s thick hair and how he fit into the empty space beside Osamu on their walk.  _ Not everything. _

“I ain’t sayin’ you’re obligated to reciprocate it with Tsumu.” Osamu takes a quiet and controlled breath before finally bringing Suna’s entire plan to fruition. “But if there’s a chance Tsumu ain’t a complete loser with a one-sided crush, might be worth talkin’ to him about it before it’s too late.”

Sakusa has no response to that, and he has to go up to the register, so Osamu doesn’t receive any further insight into what he’s thinking. He watches Sakusa depart with a cup of cold brew in hand, a slight nod in acknowledgement, eyes glossed over as he ambles away while still lost in thought.

He has no idea if he was successful, but he hopes it was—both for Atsumu’s sake and his own.

* * *

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> just ran into sakusa
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> And?
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> it’s done
> 
> i think
> 
> ?
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Uhhhh
> 
> You don’t sound too sure about it
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> cuz i have no idea
> 
> how to read sakusa?
> 
> ????
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Lmao neither does the entire fucking team
> 
> Wait Sakusa just texted me
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> huh
> 
> about what 
> 
> _ Suna Rintarou has sent a photo. _
> 
> _ Suna Rintarou has sent a photo. _
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Halle-fucking-lujah
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> you’re welcome
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Atsumu owes you
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> of course he does
> 
> he’s owed me his life
> 
> since day one
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Lol I believe that

* * *

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> hey bitch
> 
> you owe me
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> wtf for what
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> you mean aside from
> 
> making me put up with your jackassery?
> 
> generally speaking
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> yr being weird
> 
> bye
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> tell omi omi i say hi
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> huh
> 
> what the fuck
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> are you hanging out with him
> 
> today
> 
> ?
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> none of your fuckin business
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> hmmm
> 
> **Miya Atsmu**
> 
> what did you do
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> you owe me
> 
> you dumb fuck
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> SAMU WTF DID YOU DO

Maybe Osamu’s a little bit of an asshole for leaving Atsumu on read, but he can’t help but think that Atsumu deserves it—at least a little. He mutes his conversation with Atsumu and goes back to cooking himself fried eggs for a snack, wondering how Sakusa is planning to ask his brother out on a date.

He thinks back to all the stupid shit Atsumu bitched to him about the past year and how a little bit of meddling is acceptable if it knocks some sense into him. Osamu’s lucky that it worked out.

He wonders if he’ll see Suna again—or if he even  _ wants _ to see Suna.

Before Osamu can think too much about it, he plops the fried egg over a bowl of rice covered with seasoned nori, nourished and content in the privacy of his apartment.

* * *

> _ Ginjima Hitoshi has added Miya Osamu to the conversation. _
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> EVERYONE LOOK LOOK LOOK
> 
> _ Ginjima Hitoshi has shared a link. _
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> AYYYYYYE
> 
> **Kosaku Yuto**
> 
> OSAMU LOOK
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> if i click this
> 
> and it’s a dating profile
> 
> of me
> 
> in SID
> 
> i will literally speed dial
> 
> a hitman
> 
> gin
> 
> **Kosaku Yuto**
> 
> LMAO
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> so
> 
> gin
> 
> do i click this
> 
> or do you value your life
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> What’s even funnier is that Osamu is 100% serious
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> Gonna ignore the threat and just say that it’s NOT

Osamu contemplates this for a second. Out of his three roommates, Gin is probably the most trustworthy, though that isn’t saying very much. Either way, Osamu clicks the link and, as expected, he’s brought back to Subtle Inarizaki Dating.

But he doesn’t see another dating profile. He sees perhaps the first follow-up post to a dating profile that’s ever existed in the group.

> **Miya Atsumu (20) Inarizaki Setter - No Longer Available**
> 
> Please stop messaging my now-boyfriend,  **Miya Atsumu** , to solicit appointments with his so-called “monster dick”. It’s feeding his ego.
> 
> Thank you.
> 
> Sincerely,
> 
> Sakusa Kiyoomi

Osamu’s eyebrows jump in surprise.  _ That’s _ certainly not what he was expecting. He amuses himself by scrolling through his comments a bit, tucking his covers under his chin as he passes by random thoughts from strangers. It’s a huge contrast from the comments on Suna’s original post. Most of them are various iterations of:  **Subtle Inarizaki Love is real** . 

He clicks back to his messages and unmutes Atsumu, only to find a large string of text messages that are mostly incoherent. The most recent ones are in all capital letters that take up Osamu’s entire screen, and he pushes up his glasses higher on his nose to get a better look at them.

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> OMI KUN
> 
> TOLD ME HE LIKES ME
> 
> BECAUSE HE SAID YOU TALKED TO HIM
> 
> I AM EVEN WILLING TO OVERLOOK THE FACT THAT YOUR FAT MOUTH BETRAYED MY TRUST
> 
> YOU ARE A GOD
> 
> I OWE YOU MY LIFE
> 
> OK GTG NOW TALK SOON SAMU BYE
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> gross

But the corner of Osamu’s lips lift up in a smile. His brother may be a complete ass, but he deserves some good things in his life. He expects to hear more about this tomorrow, and he expects to hear more about this for however long they end up dating.

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> you guys are a great match
> 
> you’re both stupid

Right as he clicks send, his phone buzzes.

> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Good work
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> are you my boss now?
> 
> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> I could be :-)

It’s a weird text, followed by a strange series of follow up messages.

> **Suna Rintarou**
> 
> Sorry that was weird
> 
> Forget I ever said that
> 
> Please
> 
> And I hope this means that we’re good?
> 
> About the SID thing
> 
> I really am sorry about that
> 
> And thanks for the whole Sakusa talk
> 
> He said you were nice

Osamu doesn’t know how to read into these messages, nor does he know how to respond, so he doesn’t. But as days pass and he hears more from Atsumu and people begin to lose interest in the Miyas once again, Osamu wonders what he would say if he were to respond. Yeah, they’re good, but he doesn’t see why it even matters anymore, since Osamu ended up fixing things himself. Besides, Osamu figures that he and Suna don’t have much in common, so there wouldn’t be anything to talk about, anyway. 

Plus, the idea of talking to Suna like that makes Osamu’s stomach coil into tight knots. So Osamu carries on with his normal life. He stays up late and watches YouTube and plays videogames with his roommates. Atsumu is over the moon and bombards Osamu with texts about his boyfriend, and Akagi and Gin continue to conspire, toying with the idea of dropping Osamu into SID just for shits and giggles. 

“You’d get  _ way _ more likes and DMs than Atsumu,” Akagi reasons. “I mean, you’re just as much of an asshole as he is—don’t give me that look, Osamu, because you’re just proving my point—and I think it’d be kind of funny to watch you two compete.”

“I ain’t a fuckin’ racehorse.”

“I’m not saying you are. I’m just saying. It’s a missed opportunity if we don’t try it.”

But Osamu reminds them about the undivided attention he’d received, about the whispers that crept on the back of his neck, and about all the uncomfortable sort-of rejections he had to dish out when people asked him out. It was only a week, but it was a week from hell. He can’t put into words how terrifying it was for someone like him to be seen. 

Because Osamu has gotten used to being invisible. Back in high school, having spectators watching him play volleyball was the norm. That was different, though: even back then, the eyes were always on Atsumu.  _ He _ was always the star, the conductor, the VIP.  _ He _ was named the best high school setter in Japan, and  _ he _ was the one that single handedly brought their volleyball team to Nationals three years in a row.

Atsumu is—and always has been—the one that people pay attention to.

Osamu knows he’s known by people as being ‘the quiet Miya.’ He only fell further into anonymity the moment he turned down offers to play volleyball in college.  _ Miya _ will one day be a household name, but only if it’s attached to  _ Atsumu _ .

And Osamu’s okay with that. He doesn’t want to live a big, flashy life, complete with people hitting on him and thirsting about him and wanting to get to know him. Osamu has simple goals and aspirations, and none of them involve being pursued or pursuing others.

Yet he can’t help but wonder why—right now, as his thoughts flicker back to the unanswered messages from Suna—feeling invisible makes him feel a little dissatisfied.

* * *

> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> hey
> 
> are you still mad at suna about the whole SID thing?
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> huh
> 
> no
> 
> why
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> oh interesting
> 
> he said you ignored his messages
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> oh
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> he thinks you hate him
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> oh
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> do you hate him
> 
> it’s okay if you do
> 
> i hate him too
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> not really
> 
> i mean
> 
> he’s kinda shady
> 
> if you ask me
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> you’re talking to someone who’s been subjected to his shade for the past year
> 
> so yeah i know
> 
> but you don’t hate him right?
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> what no
> 
> i just
> 
> didn’t know how to respond
> 
> to his messages
> 
> so
> 
> i didn’t
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> i see
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> what
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> you’re welcome
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> huh

Osamu, once again, squints at his phone, trying to make sense of Atsumu’s cryptic messages. He never thought Suna would be the type of person to give a flying fuck about what others think about him. He must have beeen mistaken.

Osamu considers texting Suna, but something churns in his stomach and he recognizes it as probable mistrust—either towards Atsumu or Suna, he doesn’t know. So he spends Saturday moseying around, grateful for a sense of peace and quiet despite his roommates pestering him about the stupid dating group. Osamu’s halfway to the dining hall to grab dinner when his phone goes off.

> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> Oh my god Osamu
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> OSAMUUU
> 
> **Kosaku Yuto**
> 
> OSAMU YOU FUCKER
> 
> _ Akagi Michinari has shared a link. _

A sinking feeling settles itself in his gut. Atsumu’s strange messages suddenly start to feel like an ominous foreboding, and Osamu feels panicked anticipation begin to reel him out of his content mood. He is fully prepared to act out a full-blown temper tantrum in the middle of the Inarizaki quad, with students teeming around him as they go from class to class and mingle with friends.

Osamu clicks the link and prays to whatever god might be listening that it isn’t a profile of him.

He holds his breath, fully prepared to see atrocious emojis followed by the name  **MIYA OSAMU** , fully prepared to search up an assassin to target his twin brother and make it look like an accident. 

But it’s not that.

It’s not that—at all.

> **Single and Ready to Mingle - with just one person :^)**
> 
> **Name** : Suna Rintarou
> 
> \-  class : second year / 20 years old
> 
> \-  occupation : middle blocker for Inarizaki Men’s Volleyball Team, student on the weekdays
> 
> \-  looking for :  **Miya Osamu**
> 
> **Cons:**
> 
> \- sometimes people call me lazy
> 
> \- other people think I’m shady
> 
> \- one time I sort of made his life a mess by posting here about his identical twin brother,  **Miya Atsumu** so uh
> 
> **Pros:**
> 
> \- I will get back to you on this eventually
> 
> **General Stats** (? / 5):
> 
> \- smartassery ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
> 
> \- shadiness ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
> 
> \- volleyball skills ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
> 
> \- shitposts ⭐️⭐️⭐⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
> 
> \- genuine interest in getting to know you ⭐️⭐️⭐⭐⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
> 
> **Miscellaneous** :
> 
> \-  current concern : trying to figure out how to come up with an excuse to talk to a guy I’m interested in. And also publicly embarrassing myself by posting my own dumb ass here
> 
> So if you want please text or call or email or send me a letter or a messenger Miya back. If not then uh. Sorry to bother you again
> 
> **Miya Osamu** thank you for your time, and everyone else why the fuck are you still reading this.
> 
> Suna Rintarou

Just one minute ago, Osamu was sure that he’d throw a fit in the middle of campus. Now, he thinks he might pass out. He reads the profile, once, twice, then a third time. The message is loud and clear: Suna is very publicly, very openly hitting on him. He’s not mistakenly hitting on him, either, because Suna knows exactly who Osamu is.

But Osamu doesn’t know who Suna is, and he doesn’t know why Suna thinks going this far is necessary.

Of all the things he doesn’t know, the largest problem is that Osamu doesn’t know what the hell to do.

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> what
> 
> do
> 
> i
> 
> do
> 
> HELP
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> To hell if I know 
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> Idk man ask Atsumu
> 
> **Kosaku Yuto**
> 
> Yeah Atsumu knows Suna
> 
> So he probably knows what to do
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> are you for real
> 
> NOW you guys choose
> 
> to not give 
> 
> opinions?????
> 
> **Akagi Michinari**
> 
> Bitch do I look like an atm to you
> 
> **Ginjima Hitoshi**
> 
> Well NOW you choose to ASK FOR THEM????

Osamu clicks back to Suna’s message. It was just posted, and it’s already going up in engagement. If Osamu remembers correctly, Suna and Atsumu finished volleyball practice not too long ago. He has a fleeting thought that Atsumu must have orchestrated this, egging on Suna to put himself out there the same way Suna had plastered Atsumu in front of SID. 

This must be some form of poetic justice.

But it’s still mortifying.

He decides to text the one person who—like Kosaku said—knows Suna better.

> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> dude
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> talk to suna yourself don’t drag me into it
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> i didn’t even say anything
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> have fun with suna
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> tsumu
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> don’t be a jerk to him
> 
> but let me know if he’s a jerk to you
> 
> i’ll join him
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> TSUMU
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> what
> 
> i’m busy
> 
> gonna go k-word my hot bf
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> ew
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> this could be you and suna if you want
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> STOP
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> hm
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> what do i do
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> what do you want to do
> 
> **Miya Osamu**
> 
> i don’t KNOW
> 
> **Miya Atsumu**
> 
> make up your mind
> 
> loser
> 
> and move on
> 
> with or without suna
> 
> BYE

Osamu hesitates. He thinks about pestering Atsumu more, but he has a feeling that Atsumu will just play off being the know-it-all relationship expert now that he’s cuffed to his long-term crush, never mind the fact that they got together literally yesterday.

The problem is this: he doesn’t know Suna at all, and the few interactions they’ve shared have been dicey at best.

But when he rereads Suna’s profile in SID, Osamu catches himself laughing a little.

Against better judgement, Osamu clicks on his phone and presses it to his ear as the dial tone rings.

He picks up after the second ring. “Osamu?”

“Suna.”

“That was a lot faster than I expected.” Suna laughs breathily over the phone. It doesn’t sound like the full and uninhibited laugh from before, when it was at Osamu’s expense. He almost sounds nervous. “I thought I’d have to show up on your doorstep again.”

“That woulda been way too creepy.”

“You mean the first time wasn’t creepy enough?”

“I grew up with Tsumu.” Osamu scratches at his head. The sunlight burns on the horizon as it sinks low, and he sweeps his eyes around campus, debating whether or not he should bother hauling ass to the south side of campus, where the gym is. “Got used to creepy shit from him.”

“Tell me about it.” Suna pauses. “What are you doing right now?”

“I was on my way to dinner.”

“Ah.” Another pause. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

“You interrupted a lot, alright.”

“I get that a lot.” There’s a soft patter of footsteps and a muffled creak of a door as Suna’s velvety soft voice buzzes in Osamu’s ear. “People kinda call me an instigator.”

“No shit.”

“Yes shit.”

Osamu laughs a little, and the two fall back into silence. He knows Suna’s waiting for him to say something, because Osamu’s the one that called in the first place. Truth be told, he had nothing planned. He dialed without thinking, and now he’s kind of regretting it.

“Osamu,” Suna says at the same exact time Osamu says, “Suna.”

Both of them stop abruptly, but Suna is quicker to recover. “You go first.”

Osamu chews his bottom lip, and he’s so lost in thought that he momentarily forgets that he’s in the middle of campus, outdoors, with people passing by him. He whips his head back and forth, searching for a place to sit, but he’s stuck awkwardly milling about with his phone pressed to his ear, a desperate tether that he’s surprised to find himself clinging to.

“Why didja do that?” he finally asks. “The thing. Y’know. In the group.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Yes. No. I dunno. Nothin’ else about you is obvious.” Suna snorts. “So I wanna hear you say it.”

“Because I want to get to know you,” Suna answers, simple and straight to the point. 

“Oh.”

“I knew of you because of Atsumu. He always said you were wild, but I didn’t get a chance to see it until you yelled at me.” Osamu feels his cheeks warm at the memory. He can’t recall the last time he had an outburst towards someone who wasn’t Atsumu. “It was refreshing.”

“Glad to see me bein’ pissed off is refreshin’ to you.”

“Not you being pissed off.” Osamu hears the smile in his voice when he says, “You showing your true colors. I don’t believe for a second that you’re as reserved and—as  _ normal _ as you make yourself out to be. I want to get to know more of you, that’s all—the real you.”

Osamu blinks in surprise. Years ago, when he and Atsumu were kids, Osamu made the conscious effort to be kind and well-mannered in all the ways Atsumu wasn’t: good table etiquette, polite interactions, never acting out. People commend him for it. Osamu’s respected for it.

He never thought anyone in their right mind would purposely want to breach that facade. 

“It was Atsumu’s idea,” Suna admits. “Putting myself out there like that. He said you were pretty upset about being mistaken for him in that way.”

“Well. Yeah. People were askin’ if they could suck my dick. Or, Tsumu’s dick. No one should ever hafta suffer through bein’ asked if a stranger can suck their brother’s dick.”

Suna bursts into laughter, and Osamu decides that he likes Suna’s laugh. “I guess I gave myself a taste of my own medicine.”

“Not really. Yer post was pretty tame.”

“I know, but—” Suna clears his throat. Osamu wishes he could see the expression on his face right now. Even if he wouldn’t have any idea what to make of it, it’s like a puzzle that Osamu has yet to piece together. “It was still embarrassing.”

“And here I thought nothin’ could ever embarrass you.”

“Are you kidding? I get embarrassed. I’m embarrassed right now.”

Osamu’s chest constricts. “You are?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t hafta be embarrassed.”

“I don’t?”

“No. You don’t.”

Another pause. “So what do you say? Want to give me a chance?”

Osamu chews his lip. He doesn’t know what to make of the tightening in his ribcage, but he does know that Suna’s pull is as strong as ever, even if it’s over the phone. “And if I say yes?”

“Then you’ll make my embarrassment worth it.”

“And if I say no?”

“I guess that’s just karma for fucking with you on the first place.” Before Osamu can give his answer, Suna asks, “Where are you right now?”

“In the quad. By the humanities building.” Osamu steps out of the way of a group of students shoving one another down the path. He sticks his free hand in his pocket and kicks at the ground. A smile grows on his face, and Osamu can’t stop it. He finally lets himself think back to the walk he and Suna went on together, and how his eyes were naturally drawn to Suna’s frame—every detail from his bare forearms to the sharp angles of his jaw. 

Maybe they started off on a rocky foot. But that doesn’t mean they can’t try to see where they can go from here, right?

“Near the dining hall?”

“Yeah.”

“What a coincidence. I’m around, too.”

Osamu swallows the sensation of his heart jumping. “Are you?”

“Get dinner with me?” Suna asks. “If you’re free.”

“Where are you?” Osamu glances around, looking for the distinct head of dark hair. He can see a student pause to tie her shoe, a mob crowding around a cellphone. He sees two professors speaking with each other, and the faces of familiar strangers passing by. Suna is nowhere in sight, but Osamu keeps looking. 

Osamu begins to take a step towards the south end of campus, where Suna's walking from, but Suna’s voice stops him in his tracks.

“Wait. Stay where you are. Okay? Don’t move.” Osamu turns right as a mass of students breaks, and—finally—he catches a glimpse of Suna in the distance. He didn’t have to go looking for him after all. Anticipation blooms in his chest as Suna’s impassive face erupts into a devilish smile, and he sees the words form on Suna’s lips as he speaks directly to Osamu, loud and clear. “I see you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Carol](https://twitter.com/akaashikejis) and [Ginko](https://twitter.com/ginkobean) for beta-ing this for me!
> 
> Welcome to my Inarizaki University AU world, **Subtle Inarizaki Things**. As stated in the tag, this fic was inspired by the real-life good-for-nothing Facebook group, Subtle Asian Dating. The digital age is a fun time to live in. I love it here.
> 
> Come hang on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/ginjimahitoshi) if you ever need another loser to shitpost with :-)


End file.
